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Michael Malone - Weebly

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"Yes." Polly nodded.<br />

"Now, these children have to get some food in<br />

them, Miss Dingley. And some dry clothes, that's for<br />

certain, first things first," advised Mrs. O'Neal as she<br />

backed the Firebird into a careful three-point turn at the<br />

road's end.<br />

"Have you got some water, or something you could<br />

give Polly?"<br />

Luke asked.<br />

"Come on, I don't need anything, I'm okay." Polly<br />

was shivering.<br />

"Here." Miss Dingley reached down into her<br />

hamper. "Here, Miriam. Luke. Give her that." It was a<br />

bottle of port.<br />

"It's not missiles," Polly said. "It is restricted. It's the<br />

federal government. Something's funny. There're dead<br />

dogs lying there. We took the pictures."<br />

Enclosed in unbroken blackness, the car lights<br />

moved slowly along the silent expanse of an abandoned<br />

highway. The old woman who represented her town,<br />

both in her name and in her elective capacity, sat beside<br />

her driver and tried to decipher the meaning of what the

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